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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484069">The Only House That's Not On Fire (Yet)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_space_ace/pseuds/the_space_ace'>the_space_ace</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream SMP but it's Lemon Demon songs [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Bonding, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), technically</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:14:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,819</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_space_ace/pseuds/the_space_ace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is ending and after months of dealing with what was most definitely the apocalypse, Tubbo's lost all sense of self-preservation he's ever had. It's why he so easily agrees to stay with someone who is most certainly not normal.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eret &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream SMP but it's Lemon Demon songs [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049987</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Only House That's Not On Fire (Yet)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started this in December and finally decided that I wanted to actually continue with it after listening to all of View-Monster again</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tubbo had always assumed he’d have been dead before the end of the world, giving the deteriorating planet at least a century more before things finally went to shit. Apparently, a century was too generous because on his 16th birthday, Tubbo had woken up to screams and fire and destruction; it was definitely the worst present he got that year.</p>
<p>It took a full month before Tubbo was on his own in the wasteland that was Earth, trudging through the streets with a quickly packed bookbag. He was still unsure about how he managed to even be on his own, most of his memories forcefully blocked out as his brain tried to salvage his fucked mental state. Trying to force himself to remember anything left Tubbo with a splitting headache and his appetite gone so he eventually stopped trying.</p>
<p>The end of the world didn’t seem as natural as all the scientists predicted it would be. It wasn’t something gradual. There were no warning signs, nothing to let anyone prepare for the downfall of the human race. One day everything was fine and the next everything was torn to pieces, nearly every building wrecked and bathed in fire. </p>
<p>With each day that passed, the state of the world became even more questionable. Fires usually didn’t last forever, they’d eventually peter out if they had nothing left to burn. Fires also actually burned things, turning things to ash by just being themselves. The fires that sat around what was once Tubbo’s home didn’t seem to get the memo, though. It definitely was fire, no doubt about that, but it did little more than make the world unbearably hot. They didn’t burn any homes or buildings, simply engulfing them in a vicious and probably not at all comforting hug. When Tubbo wasn’t walking and attempting to find shelter, he stared at houses in a fearful sort of wonder.</p>
<p>Four months into the end of the world and Tubbo was sick and tired of it. If he died earlier on, maybe he wouldn’t hate it as much. He was still alive, though, and dear god did it suck. Food and water was surprisingly abundant, but the water was always uncomfortably hot and the food always just on the wrong side of expired. Tubbo was sure he should’ve died of heat stroke or lung problems at this point; his body felt like it had a constant fever and he’d probably inhaled more smoke than a nicotine addict.</p>
<p>The apocalypse wasn’t supposed to be annoying or boring, it was supposed to be terrifying and devastating.</p>
<p>Tubbo would say he was mildly devastated about it all, sad but not enough for it to be detrimental. Movies always made the end seem so much worse than it was turning out to be. It was disappointing, honestly, that this was the way everything was going down the drain. No nuclear war or collapse of the global ecosystem or alien invasion or zombies, just whatever let-down this was.</p>
<p>Things managed to get stranger after a while because of course they did.</p>
<p>It was another day of just walking around aimlessly, hoping to stumble upon any other sign of life (please, for the love of god, he was so lonely). He wasn’t expecting anything new or out of the admittedly not-so-ordinary ordinary, but apparently he wasn't allowed to enjoy the end of days peacefully.</p>
<p>In the midst of the suburbs, there was one house untouched by the carnage that had taken hold of every house around it. The house looked brand new, every shingle and brick and window immaculate. The fire that graced the houses around it didn’t even come close to touching it, the flames moving away from it as if it would harm them. The porch light was on and there was smoke coming from the chimney. The lawn was full of wild grasses and wildflowers, looking well watered.</p>
<p>Someone was living there, completely unaffected by the apocalypse.</p>
<p>Tubbo stared up at the light blue exterior walls of the house, contemplating knocking or not. There was no harm in it, really. The worst that could happen was death and Tubbo was doomed to die soon anyway. Nothing wrong with speeding it up.</p>
<p>The steps leading up to the front door were well-used, boot prints staining the white paint coating the wood. Walking up to the door and briefly forgetting the fire settled in his skin reminded Tubbo of the days before all of this in the simplest ways. If he closed his eyes, it would be like he was coming home after school.</p>
<p>The front door was messily painted a bright red, the thin coats of paint barely covering the dark oak of the door underneath it. There was a welcome mat that looked like it’d been to hell and back. The happy scrawl of the words was barely legible, covered in layers of dried and cracked mud. Something about how normal the house was made it seem like less of an anomaly and much more safe. It made knocking on the door easier.</p>
<p>Tubbo was waiting at the door for exactly three seconds before it swung upon.</p>
<p>The person who had opened the door was wearing a pair of sunglasses (too dark for him to see their eyes), a puffy winter coat (which had to be uncomfortable), and a sun hat. They looked surprised to see Tubbo at the door, clearly not expecting anyone to actually be at the door. There was something off about them; it was in the way they stood and held themself, an unnatural edge to their stance.</p>
<p>“Hello!” they greeted cheerfully, their lips curling into an open-mouthed smile. Tubbo, for a second, thought he saw a glimpse of pointed teeth, not much unlike those of a dog. The stranger’s mouth was closed before he could catch another look. “Uh, if you don’t mind me asking, who are you?”</p>
<p>“I’m Tubbo.”</p>
<p>“Is that your actual name?” Usually, Tubbo would find that question extremely rude and downright insulting, but the stranger asked with such genuine curiosity that he had a hard time believing there was any actual malice behind the simple question.</p>
<p>“Yes, it is.”</p>
<p>The stranger hummed, the noise telling of their confusion. They didn’t move at all and just stood there. Staring. It made Tubbo’s skin crawl in the worst way. “That’s quite unconventional for a human name.”</p>
<p>“I guess so.”</p>
<p>“It is nice to meet you, Tubbo,” their words sounded stiff, like they were reading off a script, “I am Eret.”</p>
<p>“Your name’s pretty unconventional, too.”</p>
<p>Eret gasped and they finally moved, hands clasping together excitedly. “You’re right! We’ve got something in common.”</p>
<p>Tubbo didn’t really care too much for whatever this was. Sure, Eret seemed nice enough, but there were a lot more pressing things to focus on other than these incredibly awkward formalities. “Why isn’t your house on fire?”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>“Every other house is on fire, why isn’t yours?”</p>
<p>They looked around, peeking to look at the houses neighboring their’s. “I guess I’m just lucky.” Eret didn’t seem at all bothered. It might’ve made them happier, actually. The upturn to their lips appeared much more genuine and so did their general body language. “Do you want to come inside? You look like you’re burning up. It’s very worrying.”</p>
<p>This had to be a joke, right? </p>
<p>It wasn’t.</p>
<p>They were stepping out of their doorway to make room for Tubbo to enter, patiently waiting for him to walk in. And Tubbo, not wanting to be rude, did.</p>
<p>The first thing he noticed when Eret closed the door behind him was just how much cooler it was inside. The change in temperature was ridiculous and Tubbo’s body was thrown for a loop after so much time in the unbearable heat. He marveled at the shiver of cold that ran down his back, a feeling that was foreign yet extremely welcomed. </p>
<p>The second thing he had noticed was the strange décor of the house. The interior of the house completely clashed against its interior, a darker color palette to everything in the home. Victorian gothic paintings of varying sizes hung on the unevenly striped walls, accompanied by one too many clocks. The furniture was something straight out of a history museum. Every piece was made of dark wood and even darker fabric. There were display tables and shelving all around the main room, holding various books and skeletons and other slightly unsettling knick-knacks. Large, intricately designed chandeliers were the main source of light, their beauty and delicacy setting them apart from the absurdity of every other part of the room.</p>
<p>Tubbo knew his gaping could be seen as rude, but he didn’t care because <i>what the fuck</i>. None of this felt like a real place. It was like he’d walked onto the set of a historical drama, momentarily taken a few too many years in the past.</p>
<p>“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Eret asked, excitedly moving about their house. They seemed more comfortable inside the room instead of in the doorway which Tubbo assumed had to be a good sign. “It took a while to collect all of this.”</p>
<p>“It sure is something.”</p>
<p>“Wait here, I’ll get you something to drink.”</p>
<p>When they walked off, Tubbo began to wander around and closely inspect some of the more interesting parts of the room. Every painting was real, every painstakingly beautiful stroke visible if he got close enough. The skeletons seemed genuine too, each one too detailed to be fake. Tubbo didn’t know if he should be terrified or impressed.</p>
<p>Eret walked back in, still bundled up in their strange clothing and holding a glass of water. “If you want to stay the night, I can set up a guest room for you, if you’d like.”</p>
<p>Tubbo carefully took the glass, loving the chill that transferred to his hands. He’d much rather hold the cup than drink from it. “Seriously?”</p>
<p>“Of course. I wouldn’t mind. It gets boring around here by myself. Skeletons can only provide so much company.”</p>
<p>“That’s a bit morbid.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sorry!”</p>
<p>Tubbo took a sip of water and it tasted sweet on his tongue, just slightly off. There was no harm in asking about it. “Where’d you get this water?”</p>
<p>Eret tilted their head to the side, fingers fidgeting at their side as they struggled to remember something they really should’ve. Tubbo wished he could see behind their sunglasses, maybe actually see if there were some thoughts going on in their head. “I don’t remember.”</p>
<p>The grin on their face was content, as if their answer wasn’t one of the most unsettling things Tubbo’d heard in awhile. They clearly didn’t mind as much as Tubbo did, finding nothing wrong with what they’d said. Staying with them seemed like a death wish, at this point.</p>
<p>Good thing Tubbo didn’t care much for his mortality.</p>
<p>“Mind showing me that guest room?”</p>
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